


Silent Night

by whoyoureallyare



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: As in really minor, Christmas, Christmasfic, First Kiss, Fluff, John's an Idiot, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, Minor Angst, Mutual minor pining, and also jealous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:22:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28310835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whoyoureallyare/pseuds/whoyoureallyare
Summary: Sherlock gives John a sentimental Christmas gift and then plays him music.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 42





	Silent Night

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically set right after Sherlock comes home from the morgue in _A Scandal In Belgravia_ (as in, right after he thinks Irene is dead). It's completely self-indulgent Christmas fluff. Enjoy!

The door to 221 slammed loudly behind him as Sherlock stormed up the seventeen steps to their flat. John closed his book and laid it in his lap, only half convincing himself that he had actually read it. He twisted in his chair to greet Sherlock as he stopped in the doorway. “Oh, hi.” Sherlock narrowed his eyes and scanned the flat, his eyes moving rapidly back and forth. “You okay?”

“I hope you didn’t mess up my sock index this time,” he said, and went to his room. John sighed. Of course Sherlock would know what they were looking for. He rested his chin in his hand and opened his book back up. The fire crackled warmly from beside him. His eyes started to close. He had turned off most of the lights, save for one on the small table next to the telly. The colourful fairy lights twinkled from around the window. If he was being honest with himself, he wasn’t surprised that Jeanette broke up with him. He wasn’t all that disappointed, either. He chose to stay with his flatmate over his girlfriend on Christmas Eve. He probably deserved to be broken up with for that. 

John was startled out of his thoughts by Sherlock making a reappearance. “John?”

“Yes, Sherlock?” He looked back at Sherlock. He was standing in the kitchen, having traded his suit jacket for a dressing gown. He still had on his button-up shirt and trousers.

“Tonight’s Christmas Eve.” John refrained from making a sarcastic comment only due to the hesitation he sensed in Sherlock’s voice. “And you’re not with Jeanette. I understand that people generally want to spend tonight with the ones they love?”

John sighed again. “She broke up with me.” Sherlock looked puzzled. “She was pretty pissed off that I had to cancel our plans tonight.”

“Cancel? Why?”

“Surely you can deduce.” When the confusion didn’t leave Sherlock’s face, John decided to take the easy route and explain to him. “Irene.”

“Irene? You mean The Woman? I don’t understand, you don’t care about her.”

“No,” John said patiently, “but you do. She’s dead, Sherlock. I’m worried for you.” 

“I’m okay,” Sherlock said. “I-” he hesitated. “I apologise. For making you cancel your plans.” The words sounded foreign coming from him, and John was pretty sure that was the first time he’d ever heard Sherlock apologise. 

“Happy to do it,” John said, and it was only partially a lie. It probably wasn’t great that he was actually happy about spending time with Sherlock while feeling mostly neutral about breaking up with Jeanette. Her words kept echoing through his head. _Don’t make me compete with Sherlock Holmes!_ He had dismissed it as something said in the heat of the moment, but perhaps there was some truth to it. After all, he was currently with Sherlock and not her. 

“Well.” Sherlock cleared his throat, still looking uncomfortable. “I got you a gift.” He edged around the door and cautiously made his way to perch on the front of his chair. 

“You didn’t have to,” John said, but was touched nonetheless. 

“Yes. I know.” Sherlock rested the small package in his lap. It was meticulously wrapped, dark-blue paper with a silver ribbon tied around it. “But I did.” 

“What is it?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “As if I would _tell _you. Seriously, John, don’t be an idiot.”__

__John laughed in spite of himself. “Right, then. May I have it?”_ _

__“It’s Christmas Eve, not Christmas,” Sherlock pointed out._ _

__“Yes, I know. There’s a tradition, though, that says I should open one present on Christmas Eve.”_ _

__“You may be right. That is a tradition,” Sherlock conceded, and handed it over. John carefully took the package and looked at it, turning it over in his hands. There was a card taped to the front of it. “If you’re going to open it, do so,” Sherlock said, and John smiled at his impatience._ _

__“Should I open the card first?” Sherlock shrugged, so John took that to mean yes. He opened the envelope. The card was a grey colour, simple white snowflakes printed on the cover. Inside was a small note, written in Sherlock’s swooped handwriting._ _

___John,_ _ _

___I debated giving this to you because I wasn’t certain you would like it. I’m not very good at gifts, nor do I usually have someone I wish to give gifts to. I suppose you are the exception, therefore, I had to think of something that would work for you. Merry Christmas._ _ _

___Sherlock_ _ _

__It wasn’t much, but John knew how difficult that must have been for Sherlock to write. He was surprisingly touched. Sherlock’s eyebrows were creased. Anxious. “I know I’ll like it, Sherlock,” John said._ _

__“Just open it,” Sherlock groaned. “Please.”_ _

__“Okay, okay.” He untied the ribbon, letting it fall to the floor. He took the lid off the box, finding three things inside. The first was a series of photographs, the second a small, empty glass bottle, and the third was a beautiful grey and navy jumper. He picked up the jumper first. It was soft and warm, and John loved it instantly. He pulled off the one he was wearing and slipped the new one over his head, noting Sherlock’s tender expression. He looked at the glass bottle quizzically. “Sherlock, what’s this?”_ _

__“It’s-well-I probably shouldn’t have it, it technically counts as evidence, but-”_ _

__“All right, but what is it?” The bottle was no larger than a shot glass with a cork in the top._ _

__“Jeff Hope.”_ _

__“Excuse me?”_ _

__“Jeff Hope. The cabbie from _A Study In Pink._ It was the bottle he used to put the pills in.” _ _

__John shook his head fondly. “Only you would get me this.”_ _

__“Do you not like it?”_ _

__John was shocked to hear a trace of faint alarm in his voice. Sherlock’s eyes were wide and slightly hurt. “No, Sherlock. I do like it. I know, it’s from our first case together. It’s from the beginning.” Sherlock nodded, relief clear on his face._ _

__John picked up the photographs and looked at them. The first photograph was obviously a crime scene, probably taken by Sherlock. A house lit up by police lights, clad in caution tape. The next was a closeup of a room, a body dressed in pink lying in the middle of the floor. John smiled to himself. The third was a photograph of a restaurant. Two men were sitting inside, one looking out the window. John’s smile grew a little more. The last photograph was of two men running down an alley, and at that John flat-out grinned. It was photographs of them, of their first case together, and of their first crime scene._ _

__“Do you like the photographs?” Sherlock asked, a hint of nervousness in his voice. “As I said, I’m not very good at giving gifts.” Maybe it was the nervousness, the shyness. Maybe it was the fact that John was extremely touched by the thoughtfulness of Sherlock’s gifts. Maybe it was the fact that Sherlock had cared enough to do this for him, but suddenly John felt tears pricking at the back of his eyelids. Sherlock kept talking. Something about how Mycroft had taken the last two photos with his CCTV network. John didn’t care._ _

__He flung himself out of his chair and into Sherlock’s arms. Sherlock uttered a little “oof!” at the sudden weight of John’s body. “Shut up,” John whispered in his ear. “Just shut up.” Miraculously, Sherlock did. A moment later John felt him slowly raise his arms and put them gently around John. John clutched at the front of his shirt. “You’re shaking,” Sherlock whispered in his ear. His voice was low. John suddenly became aware of the fact that he was, indeed, shaking. And he had no idea why._ _

__“Sorry,” he murmured into Sherlock’s shoulder._ _

__“Why are you sorry?” His voice was still low, his breath hot against John’s face. John knew he should probably pull away, but he didn’t want to move. Sherlock was warm and comforting around him. He smelled familiar, a blend of cool, clean rain and the cologne he wore. John couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was. Maybe citrus. Eventually, reluctantly, John pushed Sherlock back._ _

__“I didn’t mean to...I know how you feel about-this,” he said awkwardly, gesturing between them. “Sorry.”_ _

__“It was...fine,” Sherlock said. “Just fine.” Maybe it was a trick of the light, but John swore he could see colour rising in Sherlock’s cheeks. John cleared his throat._ _

__“Anyways. Thank you. For the gifts.”_ _

__“Did that mean you like them?” Sherlock dipped his head a little but kept his eyes fixed on John._ _

__“Did what?” Now it was Sherlock’s turn to wave his hand awkwardly between them. “Oh. Yeah, it did.” He smiled reassuringly at Sherlock, and Sherlock gave him an uncertain smile back. John half-regretted hugging Sherlock, and the regret was only because he wasn’t sure how long he could wait before doing so again. John returned to his chair, crossing his legs and stretching them out slightly. Sherlock abruptly stood up. John opened his mouth to ask him what he was doing, but closed it as soon as Sherlock picked up his violin._ _

__The first notes he coaxed out were familiar. Something John recognised from his childhood. He settled back further into his chair to listen. ““Silent Night?”” John asked him, after a few more bars. Sherlock tilted his head slightly, acknowledgement that John was right. The music was beautiful, filling the small flat. John was certain that he would never hear another cover as nice as this. He was transfixed, watching as Sherlock played. His eyes were locked with John’s. John didn’t dare to break the contact. A lump formed in his throat, the second time that evening. He blinked furiously, and still Sherlock played. John wasn’t aware that he stood up, the song compelling him to. Sherlock finished playing perfectly, his mouth twitching up at the corners. He gave a mock bow, but John was too awestruck to clap._ _

__“How did you know?” John asked as soon as he could speak._ _

__“How did I know what?”_ _

__“That’s my favourite Christmas song.” They used to play it in the Army, when the fighting had stopped for Christmas. The one day there where he could just relax._ _

__“I deduced it.” A slight blush spread over his cheeks again. “Also, I may have asked Harry.” John didn’t know what to do with that information. It was overwhelming. The fact that Sherlock must have planned it, the fact that he did all of this for John. The fact that Harry even knew what his favourite Christmas song was. “No, wait,” Sherlock said, his voice laced with concern. “Are you crying? Why are you crying? John? Did I do something wrong?” John reached up and touched his face. His fingers came away wet. He laughed shakily._ _

“No, Sherlock. You didn’t. It was perfect.” _You’re perfect,_ he wanted to add, but didn’t. Sherlock still looked uncertain, but set his violin down and held his arms loosely at his sides. John took that as an invitation to take a hesitant step towards him. Sherlock enveloped him in his arms, and-oh. That was nice. Better than John helplessly clutching at his shirt. Their torsos were pressed together, Sherlock’s cheek resting on the top of John’s head. It was incredibly intimate. John wasn’t sure why Sherlock was doing that, why they suddenly became the type of people who did that, but he never wanted to leave his arms.

““Silent Night” isn’t actually my favourite Christmas song,” Sherlock said after a moment. John could feel his voice rumbling through his chest. 

“Yeah?” John smiled into Sherlock’s shoulder. “What is your favourite, then?” 

““O Holy Night,”” Sherlock said simply. 

“I don’t know if I know that one,” John admitted, and felt Sherlock chuckle against him. “Why do you like it?” 

“It’s pretty.” Sherlock’s breath ghosted over John’s hair. _“A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices. For yonder breaks, a new and glorious morn.”_

____

John raised his eyebrows. “So you are a romantic.” 

____

“Shut up,” Sherlock said, and chuckled again. “I could say the same about you.” 

____

“Yeah? My girlfriend just broke up with me on Christmas Eve,” John said, and the mood shifted instantly. Sherlock released him and took a step back. John shivered at the lack of warmth. 

____

“That’s not a reflection on you,” Sherlock said, and his mouth twisted downwards. 

____

John shrugged. “It doesn’t bother me much. Besides. Worse could happen.” He sat back down in his chair. “Like Irene dying.” He hated the words as soon as he let them slip from his mouth. Hated how Sherlock’s expression became sadder. Hated how anger flashed through him at the sight. 

____

“I told you, John, I’m okay,” Sherlock said, slightly sharply. 

____

“How? How, Sherlock? How can you be okay? If I lost someone like that, I’d be devastated.” He couldn’t help but think of losing Sherlock when he said that, how broken he would be. 

____

“I don’t know,” Sherlock said. “I don’t understand what you mean by ‘someone like that.’” 

____

“You know,” John said. His mind was screaming at him to stop talking, just stop talking, but he couldn’t. “You-her-“ he waved vaguely. 

____

“We what, John?” Sherlock’s voice was sharp and full of impatience. 

____

“You were in love with her, or something,” he snapped, jealousy filling the pit of his stomach. It wasn’t fair to Sherlock to be mad at him for that simply because of his own feelings, but he couldn’t help himself. He had struggled with jealousy before, in the past, but he never could quite remember it being this strong. 

____

Sherlock’s mouth fell open almost comically. “No, I wasn’t.” 

____

“Yes, you were! I saw how you looked at her, how you treated her like a puzzle that needed to be solved. The same way you treat your bloody work. And you love your work.” The jealousy thickened with every word that came, unbidden, out of his mouth. He knew that he was being insensitive, that Sherlock had just lost someone, but he was incapable of shutting up. 

____

“I treated her like my work because she was my work,” he said, his voice low and menacing. “I don’t know why you’re insinuating that we were romantically entangled in any way. How you came to that conclusion is irrelevant, however, because you are wrong.” 

____

“You-really?” John sputtered. 

____

“Yes,” Sherlock said. “I found her interesting as a case. As for personality, she was fine. I treated her the way I would any other client. Surely you noticed that?” 

____

“I didn’t,” John muttered. “She was kind of all over you. I was a bit focused on that.” Sherlock shook his head, astonished. “Besides. She seemed like your type.” 

____

“My type?” 

____

“Yes, your type,” John said, aware of how ridiculous that sounded. 

____

“I don’t have a type,” Sherlock said. 

____

“So you’re not devastated over her death?” 

____

Sherlock frowned at him. “Devastated? No. Disappointed? Kind of.” 

____

“Oh,” John breathed. 

____

“Yes, like I said: I’m fine. I’m glad we cleared that up.” 

____

“Me too,” John said, and his heart was a lot lighter knowing Sherlock wasn’t madly in love with Irene. The jealousy slowly trickled away, until it was replaced by a strange sort of euphoria. 

____

“Anyways, I’m not the one who should be upset. Your girlfriend broke up with you on Christmas Eve, as you so eloquently put it.” 

____

John flushed a little. “Yeah, she did.” 

____

“Why?” 

____

“Why? God, Sherlock, I don’t know why. Maybe because I cancelled my plans to be with you.” His voice came out harsher than he’d intended. “Girlfriends don’t typically like when you cancel on them to spend time with your flatmate.” 

____

Sherlock looked stricken. “I never asked you to do that, John. I didn’t mean-it was never my intention to have you cancel your plans for me.” 

____

John wasn’t even sure where the annoyance with Sherlock was coming from. “It’s okay, Sherlock. It was bound to happen sooner or later.” 

____

“Probably,” Sherlock agreed, and John knew that was his attempt to provide comfort. 

____

“Besides, I offered to walk her dog.” 

____

“Jeanette doesn’t have a dog,” Sherlock said. 

____

“Yes, I realised that after she so kindly pointed it out.” Despite himself, John started to laugh, and after a moment Sherlock did too. “But seriously, are you okay?” 

____

Sherlock’s expression turned serious, thoughtful. “I think so. I didn’t care about her, not in that way. But she was interesting. Our conversations were interesting. I think-I could’ve started to care about her.” 

____

The sinking feeling returned to John’s stomach. “Like a girlfriend?” 

____

Sherlock scowled at him. “What is your obsession with my relationships?” He took a breath. “No, actually, never mind. Like a friend. Not a girlfriend. Well,” he amended, “ _friend_ is a strong word. Maybe like an acquaintance.” 

____

“Oh,” John said blankly. He needed to stop assuming Sherlock was attracted to Irene. He was making it glaringly clear that he wasn’t. “Well, I’m sorry you lost her.” 

____

Sherlock waved his hand dismissively, but his expression betrayed him. It was tighter than usual, closed off. “It’s fine. I’ll be fine, John.” 

____

“You know what?” John said. “I’m glad Jeanette broke up with me.” Sherlock arched an eyebrow. “Even if you don’t really care about her, it’s good to be with people when you’re grieving.” 

____

“I’m not _grieving,”_ Sherlock said with a huff, but they both knew that wasn’t true. He had been more closed off since he walked in the door, and Sherlock never accepted John’s hugs. Not to mention the gift, the shyness on his face as he gave it to him. 

____

“It’s okay, Sherlock,” John said softly. “I’ve lost many people. In the Army. It’s not an easy thing to go through.” 

____

Sherlock blinked, his expression unreadable. When he spoke, his voice was unsteady. “Thank you, John.” John placed his hand on Sherlock’s shoulder. The warmth of it seeped through his dressing gown. His shoulder was strong under John’s hand, shaking slightly. Sherlock looked at his hand. He didn’t shrug it off. John took a step closer. He didn’t take his hand off. 

____

“I’m here for you,” John whispered, because he suspected nobody had ever said that to Sherlock before. “You don’t have to pretend around me.” Sherlock blinked again, rapidly. His eyes flickered over John’s face. John took another step closer. “Okay? I’m here. I am. It’ll be okay.” Sherlock nodded, once, and then threw his arms around John, pulling him in. John went willingly into his embrace. His entire body was trembling. Sherlock’s face was buried in John’s hair. John held him tightly. Happiness simmered somewhere inside him. This was good. He liked this hug. Aside from the fact that Sherlock was upset. Sherlock broke the silence by whispering something into John’s hair. He didn’t catch it. 

____

“Sorry, what?” 

____

“I said that tonight’s not a danger night,” he said, barely audible this time. 

____

“Oh,” John said, confused. 

____

“Because you’re here. It’s not a danger night because you’re here,” Sherlock breathed. John’s stomach leapt, and he had to physically restrain himself from grinning. It was such a sweet confession, one so Sherlock-like but at the same time not. “John? Did I overstep?” 

____

“No, Sherlock, you didn’t,” John told him when his face was working properly again. 

____

“Oh. Good.” John felt Sherlock pressing his face even more into his hair. He moved himself a little closer, allowed himself to burrow more into Sherlock’s complying arms. 

____

John raised his head up and Sherlock made a small noise of alarm. He locked eyes with Sherlock, noting that the light from the fire nearly turned them grey, beautiful. Damn it. They were still standing much too close, Sherlock’s arms wrapped around John’s waist. If the hug was intimate, the eye contact was a thousand times more so. “Merry Christmas, John,” Sherlock whispered to him. John’s head swam, and the next words out of his mouth weren’t even close to planned. 

____

“Can I kiss you?” His eyes widened automatically as he realised what he’d said. Sherlock’s mouth fell slightly open for the second time that evening. “Shit, Sherlock, forget I said anything, shit, _shit-”_

____

Sherlock effectively shut him up by ducking his head and touching his lips to John’s. His hands came up to cup John’s cheeks. His lips were warm and soft. Their noses bumped a few times before they finally figured out the placement. John trailed his hand up to Sherlock’s hair, and he dimly registered how nice it felt to tangle his fingers in his curls before he stopped thinking altogether. 

____

Sherlock’s cheeks were flushed and he was breathing heavily when they separated. John thought he had never looked more beautiful. Sherlock gently tipped his forehead forward until it was resting on John’s. John smiled shyly. “I guess Irene isn’t really your type,” he said, smirking. Sherlock didn’t do anything for a second, and in that moment John wildly wondered if he’d made a horrible miscalculation. It turned out to be okay, because shortly afterward John could feel Sherlock’s body rumbling with laughter underneath him. 

____

“That’s what you say after our first kiss?” He said when he could finally breathe. “I take back everything I said about you being a romantic.” He frowned, but John chuckled and kissed him affectionately. That kiss was short, chaste, only a brush of lips before Sherlock was pulling back but keeping his hands on John’s waist. John’s smile faltered at the anxious look on Sherlock’s face. He knew that look. Normally he got it when he had miscalculated on a case (however rare that may be), and John’s stomach did an unpleasant flip. 

____

“What’s wrong? Did I do something wrong?” 

____

“No,” Sherlock said slowly. “I don’t know why you would think that. It was, after all, I who initiated the kiss.” 

____

“Right,” John said, confused. “So what is it?” 

____

Sherlock took a deep breath, but kept his fingers splayed on John’s hips, holding him close. “Are you sure you’re not-I mean, is this-” he stuttered, seemingly unable to voice what he was thinking. “Do you actually-or is it just a way to get over-” he shut his mouth instantly, leaving John no less confused. 

____

“Sorry, you’re going to have to give me a little more to work with.” 

____

“Do you actually want this, or is it just a way for you to get over Jeanette?” Sherlock whispered. John’s heart ached at the pain in his eyes. 

____

“Christ, Sherlock, no. I’ve wanted this for ages. I’m sure you can deduce that I don’t really care about Jeanette,” he said, trying to be reassuring. “I’m not upset about us breaking up. It’s you I like, it always has been.” He thought perhaps that was the least romantic speech he’d ever made, but Sherlock sagged against him with relief. “As a matter of fact, do you know what she said when she broke up with me?” 

____

“What?” 

____

“She said, _you’re a great boyfriend. Sherlock Holmes is a very lucky man!”_

____

“No.” Sherlock’s eyes widened. “She did?” 

____

“She did,” John said, and kissed him again. He couldn’t help it. Sherlock’s chest was warm against his own. 

____

“John, I have another question,” Sherlock announced when they broke apart. “You said it was always me. When did you know?” 

____

“The first night at Angelo’s,” John said, flashing back to it. “Right before we went on a bloody run around London.” He distinctly remembered feeling nettled at Angelo assuming they were on a date, but later realised it was because Sherlock was treating it like it wasn’t a date by not affirming Angelo’s assumption. And maybe John wanted it to be one. John had only met Sherlock a short while ago, but he was already disappointed that they weren’t on a date. It was slightly maddening. He glanced at the photographs and saw Sherlock do the same. 

____

“If you knew then, why didn’t you say anything?” 

____

“I did, remember? And you said you were flattered but-” 

____

“I was married to my work. Oh.” Sherlock frowned. “You have to understand, John, I rarely feel romantic attachment and I have to get to know someone before I do. I said what I did because, at the time, I didn’t know how much I would grow to care for you.” 

____

“Sherlock,” John groaned. “How am I supposed to live up to that?” 

____

“You could kiss me again,” Sherlock said, and winked. His eye crinkled at the edges. John willingly complied. “Your jumper is so soft,” Sherlock murmured when they separated. 

____

“You bought it for me.” John laughed against his lips. “Of course it’s soft.” His phone buzzed and he reluctantly pushed Sherlock away. Mycroft, John mouthed. Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Hello?” 

____

“Doctor Watson. How is he?” 

____

“He’s fine, yeah,” John said. “Just fine.” 

____

“Good,” Mycroft said. “Are you with him?” 

____

“Yes.” John held in a laugh. _Yes I’m with him and oh, Mycroft, we just kissed._

____

“Very good. Happy Christmas.” The words sounded strange in Mycroft’s mouth. Stiff and awkward. 

____

“Merry Christmas,” John said, and hung up. He turned to Sherlock. Sherlock was smirking. 

____

“What did he want this time?” 

____

“To know if you’re okay.” Sherlock laughed. John went to slip his phone back into his pocket but saw the time and stopped. “Christ, Sherlock, it’s past midnight!” 

____

“So?” 

____

“I need to sleep.” Sherlock’s face fell slightly. “And so do you.” 

____

“Okay,” he mumbled, lowering his eyes. John’s heart broke. 

____

“I can’t believe I’m saying this-fuck,” John said, his heart beating quickly, nervously. “Would you like me to stay with you tonight?” 

____

“I thought you said that you needed to sleep?” Sherlock’s eyebrows creased in confusion. 

____

“I do,” John said, his heart straining to leap out of his chest. “I meant in your…” 

____

“In my…” 

____

“In your room. Bed. Fuck, I don’t know.” Heat rose in his cheeks as he met Sherlock’s eyes. 

____

A small smile crossed Sherlock’s face. “Oh,” he breathed. “Yes, I think that would be acceptable.” 

____

“Great,” John said, and intertwined their fingers. Sherlock gripped his hand tightly. His skin was slightly rough and very warm. Their fingers slotted together perfectly. John traced a pattern on the back of Sherlock’s hand with his thumb. “I’ll meet you in a moment. Let me get ready.” Sherlock leaned down and kissed him, then released their hands. 

____

John got ready as quickly as he could, pulling on an old t-shirt and pyjama bottoms, then brushing his teeth. He stared at himself in the mirror. His stomach fluttered nervously, and he scowled. It was just Sherlock, after all. Just Sherlock, who’d he’d been in love with for a very long time. In love. Fuck. He knew that he was in love with Sherlock, but their kisses made it all the more real, made his feelings more powerful. Steeling himself, he pushed the bathroom door open and stepped into Sherlock’s room. Sherlock was sitting on his bed, a dressing gown draped around him. He had changed out of his trousers and shirt and into pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt. John thought he looked beautiful. He couldn’t help smiling at the sight of Sherlock. 

____

“Hello, John,” Sherlock said smoothly. He kept his face mostly blank, but John could see the flicker of relief in his eyes. John loved him. 

____

“Hi, Sherlock,” John said. They looked at each other awkwardly for a moment. 

____

“I’ve never done this before,” Sherlock said. “I must admit, I don’t know how it works.” 

____

“How what works? Sharing a bed?” Sherlock nodded. “Well,” John said. “Generally, you have to be lying down.” Sherlock flushed. 

____

“I know you have to be lying down, I was just waiting for you because I thought it would be impolite if I was in bed and I didn’t want to be impolite-” 

____

“I’m teasing,” John said gently, and cupped his face in his hands, giving him a light kiss. Sherlock stared wide-eyed at him and then started to laugh. 

____

“Prick,” he said fondly. “Come on.” Sherlock slipped under the covers, motioning for John to do the same. He threw his dressing gown to the floor, and John joined him in the bed. 

____

“Your bed is cold.” 

____

“Sorry,” Sherlock said, looking apologetic. “I didn’t mean for it to be. I could go out and get you a heated blanket, or something, or we can order one, that is if you want to have more nights like this-” 

____

“Sherlock.” 

____

“What?” 

____

“I’m fine,” John said, smiling. “I’m not that cold.” 

____

“Then why did you say-oh.” John wrapped an arm around Sherlock and pulled him closer. Sherlock immediately melted into his touch, pulling John against him. Sherlock was warm, and now that they were so close John figured out that yes, he did smell slightly of citrus. Sherlock’s breath came quickly. Nervously. “That’s why. I see.” 

____

“Is this okay?” John asked. 

____

“More than,” Sherlock said, and pressed a kiss to John’s hair. _I love you,_ John thought giddily. 

____

“I have a question.” 

____

“What?” 

____

“When was it for you?” John was distracted by the warmth of Sherlock’s chest against his cheek through his thin t-shirt, but thankfully Sherlock understood what he was asking. 

____

“The pool. When Moriarty was going to blow you up. I looked at you and I thought that was it. I was about to lose the best thing that ever happened to me. And then, belatedly, I realised that you were the best thing that ever happened to me, which was mildly alarming.” 

____

“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” John murmured into his chest. 

____

“It’s all true.” 

____

_I love you._

____

“You’re the best thing that happened to me as well,” John whispered. “I was so alone, and I owe you so much.” 

____

“You weren’t alone,” Sherlock responded. John saw through him, knew that he was deflecting because he was uncertain, and decided not to argue with him on that point. 

____

“I’m surprised you didn’t deduce this,” John said. “What with your ‘science of deduction’ or whatever.” 

____

“It is a science, John,” Sherlock said, affronted. “But to answer your previous question. I did not trust my deductions because I feared my, ah, emotions were getting in the way.” He scowled when he said ‘emotions.’ John found it incredibly endearing. 

____

“You mean...what?” 

____

“I feared that I was reading too much into what you were saying. I feared that I was letting my feelings for you get in the way of my intellect. I decided to play it safe and not risk our friendship.” With each word, Sherlock’s breath puffed across John’s head. John gently detached himself from Sherlock to press their lips together. Sherlock kissed him back urgently, clutching at John’s shirt. He tasted like toothpaste. His breath was hot in John’s mouth. His nose brushed John’s cheek. John grasped Sherlock’s shirt, noted the heat coming from his body, warming up the chilly sheets. 

____

“That was…” Sherlock said after they broke apart, breathing heavily. 

____

“Amazing,” John finished. He kissed the tip of Sherlock’s nose, loving the way he smiled shyly and blushed. 

____

John closed his eyes as Sherlock wrapped himself back around him. He realised he was getting tired, but one more thing was plaguing his mind. He understood the consequences but decided to ask it anyway. 

____

“Sherlock?” 

____

“Yes, John?” Sherlock was quiet and he sounded content. John hated to disturb that, but he figured they should do this now as opposed to later. 

____

“Is there going to be a funeral?” 

____

“For Irene?” Sherlock’s arms tightened around John. 

____

“Yes.” 

____

John felt Sherlock inhale deeply before responding. “Probably. Her girlfriend will most likely want one.” 

____

“Her...girlfriend?” 

____

“Yes, John. Kate? You must remember her.” 

____

“Wait. She has a girlfriend. Is she gay?” 

____

“Yes, John.” 

____

John let out a shout of laughter, startling Sherlock. “I’m an idiot! She wasn’t in love with you after all!” 

____

“No, she wasn’t,” Sherlock said, the laughter in his chest rumbling against John’s cheek. “I told you that.” 

____

“I’m an idiot,” John said again. 

____

“Yes, but you’re my idiot,” Sherlock said, and kissed the top of his head again. “Would it bother you if I went?” His voice changed, became more uncertain with a rough edge of sadness. 

_____ _

“Bother me? Not at all,” John said. “I’m flattered that you asked but you don’t need to, okay?” 

_____ _

“Okay.” 

_____ _

“I really am sorry to hear about her death,” John said. 

_____ _

“Thank you,” Sherlock said quietly. 

_____ _

“Yeah, of course.” John swallowed. “I wish you had more time with her.” He stuttered a little, the words foreign in his mouth. Never would he have expected to wish for Sherlock to spend more time with Irene. But he supposed stranger things had happened. After all, he wouldn’t have expected to be sharing a bed with Sherlock either. 

_____ _

“Thank you,” Sherlock said again. “Though you are strangely hung up on her.” 

_____ _

“Well,” John said. “Now I’m just sorry you lost a potential friend. I was jealous before, though.” 

_____ _

“Of...her?” 

_____ _

“Yes,” John said. “I thought you were in love with her, remember?” 

_____ _

“No one’s ever been jealous because of me before,” Sherlock said softly. 

_____ _

“I’m proud to be the first.” John slowly stroked Sherlock’s back. “Today wasn’t a terrible Christmas Eve after all.” 

_____ _

“No, it wasn’t,” Sherlock agreed. “I thought with the party it might be. But surprisingly, it’s actually turned out quite well.” 

_____ _

“The miracle of Christmas, right?” 

_____ _

Sherlock shifted against him in alarm. “John, surely you don’t believe in that.” 

_____ _

“If you mean in an actual miracle, then no, I don’t. But Sherlock, look what we did. We chose this. We chose this tonight and it started with your gift. We chose to be open, we chose to explore something. And look how it turned out. It turned out pretty damn well, right? So if we can choose that today, if we can choose that on Christmas, then we can choose it any day.” Sherlock didn’t make a sarcastic comment, which John took to mean he actually liked John’s little speech. “Anyways,” John said, after the silence stretched on for too long, “Goodnight, Sherlock.” 

_____ _

“Goodnight, John.” 

_____ _

John shut his eyes and allowed himself to relax. He matched his breathing with Sherlock’s. In, out. In, out. John knew Sherlock wouldn’t sleep until he did. As he was drifting off, he thought he heard Sherlock muttering to himself about how he loved John, but John was too far gone to register that. 

_____ _

***** 

_____ _

John awoke the next morning to a heavy weight atop him and something tickling his nose. He sneezed. He shifted around for a moment before realising he was completely pinned down. He panicked for a second before remembering it was Sherlock, and then he grinned widely. Sometime during the night, Sherlock had drifted towards the end of the bed so his head was tucked underneath John’s chin. One arm was flung possessively around John’s torso, the other hand tucked beneath his cheek. His breathing was slow and steady. John ran a hand through Sherlock’s curls, marvelling at how soft they were. 

_____ _

“John?” Sherlock’s sleepy voice cut through the silence. “That you?” 

_____ _

“Yes, it’s me,” John said quietly. “I’m here.” 

_____ _

“Oh, good,” Sherlock said, and rolled further onto him. 

_____ _

“No-Sherlock-I can’t move-” 

_____ _

“Why would you want to?” He was mumbling, voice thick from sleep. It was a fair point. John didn’t know why he would want to move. He stroked Sherlock’s curls and Sherlock nuzzled into his chest. 

_____ _

“Sleep well?” Sherlock made a noise of assent and burrowed into John even more. John chuckled. A sleepy Sherlock Holmes wasn’t what he expected to wake up to on Christmas morning, but he couldn’t have asked for anything better. “Merry Christmas, Sherlock.” 

_____ _

At that Sherlock’s head popped up. John widened his eyes in alarm at his change in demeanor. His eyes lit up and John thought he looked similar as to when he got a case with several murders. “It’s Christmas,” he informed John. 

_____ _

“It is.” _Love,_ he silently added. He wasn’t sure if Sherlock would appreciate the sentiment. He flashed back to what he had heard last night, but he wasn’t certain if it was a dream or not. Sherlock pushed himself into a sitting position. John frowned at him. “Where are you going?” 

_____ _

“I need to give you my second gift,” Sherlock announced. 

_____ _

“You’ve already given me so much, I don’t know what else there is,” John said. 

_____ _

“But it’s Christmas. And you deserve everything.” Sherlock looked at him, wide-eyed and earnest. “Merry Christmas, John.” 

_____ _

“Yes, Merry Christmas,” John said. Sherlock leapt off the bed. John adjusted the pillows until he was in a sitting position. 

_____ _

“John Watson,” Sherlock said, smiling brightly. “For my second gift to you, I give you the honour of being my boyfriend.” John couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Boyfriend? “If you want, of course,” Sherlock added, mistaking his silence for uncertainty. John lunged out of the bed and tackled him, nearly knocking both of them to the floor. He brushed Sherlock’s sleep-mussed curls out of his eyes. 

_____ _

“You arrogant _bastard,”_ John said fondly. Sherlock smirked at him, and John kissed the smirk away. “Yes, I’ll be your boyfriend. If you’ll be mine.” 

_____ _

“Yes,” Sherlock said. He was staring at John with such adoration that John thought, _sod it,_ and decided to say the words that had been weighing on him. 

_____ _

“I love you.” 

_____ _

Sherlock blinked at him. John hadn’t expected a response, not right away, so he waited. “I love you too,” Sherlock said, when he regained control of his voice. John never realised before how much he’d love hearing Sherlock say that. He wanted to have him say it over and over, for the rest of all eternity, but he settled with kissing him one more time. Sherlock glared at him when John pulled away. 

_____ _

“I could kiss you all day,” John said, “but I think there are other things we need to do. Like eat, for one.” 

_____ _

“Breakfast?” Sherlock tugged at his hand to lead him to the kitchen. 

_____ _

“Starving.” And John followed. 

_____ _

**Author's Note:**

> "Silent Night" and "O Holy Night" are both traditional Christmas carols. "Silent Night" is my personal favourite and someone important to me loves "O Holy Night" so that's why it's those two. Plus, I can see John and Sherlock liking each respectively. Merry Christmas to everyone who celebrates it. And Happy (almost) New Year.


End file.
